Blaze's POV
Wedding planning has consumed our lives in the best possible way.
Every conversation somehow circles back to venues and flowers and guest lists, to color schemes and seating arrangements and the thousand other details that come with planning a celebration of this magnitude.
My phone is filled with Pinterest boards I never imagined creating, and Asher has developed surprisingly strong opinions about centerpieces for someone who once claimed he didn't care about "decorative nonsense."
"I just think roses are overdone," he'd argued last week, scrolling through floral arrangements on his tablet. "Everyone does roses. We should do something more interesting."
"Like what? Cacti?"
"I'm being serious, Blaze. This is our wedding. It should reflect who we are."
"And who we are is... anti-rose?"
He'd thrown a pillow at my head, which had devolved into wrestling, which had devolved into kissing, which had devolved into us completely forgetting about flowers for the rest of the evening.
We've discovered that any disagreements dissolve quickly through honest communication, compromise, and the occasional heated make-out session that reminds us what we're really celebrating.
Today marks an important milestone in the planning process: suit shopping. Sophie kept her promise to help with wedding preparations, meeting me at an upscale boutique downtown while Asher browses with his closest teammates across town.
The group includes Chad, who has evolved from the antisocial newcomer who replaced Ryan into one of Asher's most trusted friends.
I still chuckle remembering Asher's confession about their early misunderstanding—how he'd completely misread Chad's reserved personality as flirting, leading to a quick, awkward kiss that ended the moment Asher realized Chad was completely straight.
"It was mortifying," Asher had admitted, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "He just stood there looking at me like I'd grown a second head. Then he said, 'Uh, Carpenter, I'm flattered, but I'm about as straight as they come.'"
"And you're telling me this because...?"
"Because I don't want secrets between us. Not anymore. You deserve to know everything, even the embarrassing stuff."
He'd taken my hand, his expression earnest. "I want you to trust me completely. That means no hidden moments, no omissions, nothing that could ever make you doubt what we have."
That openness has only deepened my trust in our relationship. Knowing that Asher would rather confess an awkward kiss than let even a hint of secrecy exist between us means more than he probably realizes.
"Earth to Blaze." Sophie's voice pulls me back to the present. She's holding up two fabric swatches, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Navy or charcoal? I've asked you three times now."
"Sorry." I shake off the memories and focus on the options. "Charcoal. It'll complement Asher's eyes better."
"That's disgustingly romantic and also completely correct." She sets aside the navy swatch and adds the charcoal to our growing pile of selections. "You know, I never thought I'd be helping plan a wedding for two hockey players. Life takes strange turns."
"Good strange or bad strange?"
"Definitely good." Her smile is warm, genuine. "Seeing you this happy makes all the complicated history worth it. You deserve this, Blaze. Both of you do."
The boutique attendant approaches with an armful of suits in various cuts and colors, laying them across a velvet display table for our inspection.
"These are our most popular selections for grooms," she explains. "We also have some newer styles if you're looking for something more contemporary."
"Let's see everything," I decide. "I want options."
For the next hour, I try on suit after suit while Sophie offers honest assessments from her perch on a leather armchair.
The experience feels surreal in the best possible way—planning a wedding openly, with a friend who genuinely supports my happiness, discussing details I never imagined sharing publicly.
"That one makes you look like a funeral director," Sophie announces when I emerge in a black three-piece. "Hard pass."
"It's classic!"
"It's depressing. Next."
I retreat to the dressing room, swapping the black for a lighter gray with subtle texture. When I step out, Sophie's expression shifts to approval.
"Now that's more like it. You look like someone getting married, not someone attending a wake."
My phone buzzes with an incoming message, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face when I see the notification.
Asher has sent a selfie—him surrounded by his grinning teammates, all of them holding up various ties and pocket squares like they're posing for a catalog.
Chad is making bunny ears behind Asher's head while another teammate pretends to strangle himself with a bowtie.
"Help. They're taking this very seriously. Send rescue."
I laugh and angle my phone toward Sophie. "Quick, make a face. I need to send proof that my shopping experience is superior."
She immediately strikes an exaggerated kissy face, pressing her cheek against mine as I snap the photo. I send it with the caption: "No rescue coming. Sophie says you look cute when you're suffering."
His response comes seconds later: "Traitor. See if I share my cake samples with you later."
"You two are nauseating," Sophie observes, but her tone is affectionate. "In a good way. It's nice to see Asher so... light. He used to carry so much tension, you know? Like he was always bracing for something bad to happen."
"He's learning to trust happiness," I say quietly, setting down the phone. "We both are."
Sophie helps me sort through the remaining options while the attendant takes measurements, and our conversation drifts toward her own life.
I've been worried about her since that video call—the way she deflected my questions, the tension beneath her cheerful facade.
"So," I venture carefully, "how are things really going? And don't give me the ‘everything's fine response.’ I know you too well for that."
She hesitates, fingers tracing the edge of a fabric sample. "Things are... complicated. But I'm handling it."
"Sophie."
"I mean it, Blaze. I appreciate the concern, but this is your time. You're planning your wedding, you're happy—I'm not going to dump my problems on you when you should be focused on cake flavors and seating charts."
"That's not how friendship works. You helped me through one of the worst periods of my life. Let me return the favor."
For a moment, I think she might actually open up. Something vulnerable flickers across her expression, a crack in the armor she wears so well. But then she shakes her head, smile firmly back in place.
"Ask me again after the wedding. Right now, let's focus on making sure you look devastatingly handsome when you marry the love of your life." She holds up a tie in deep burgundy. "This would look incredible with the charcoal suit. Trust me."
I want to push harder, to break through her deflection, but I recognize the stubborn set of her jaw. Sophie will talk when she's ready, not a moment before.
"Fine," I concede, accepting the tie. "But I'm holding you to that. After the wedding, we're having a real conversation."
"Deal." She squeezes my arm gently. "Now go try on that suit with this tie. I have a feeling we've found the one."
As I head back to the dressing room, my phone buzzes again with another photo from Asher—this one showing him in a fitted navy suit that makes my mouth go dry.
"What do you think?"
I think I'm the luckiest man alive. I think I can't wait to marry him. I think the boy I fell in love with at fifteen has become the man I want to spend forever with.
But I simply type back: "Perfect. You're perfect."